


Of Rites and Rituals

by Moiraine



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Ritual Sex, Rituals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiraine/pseuds/Moiraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year, the ruler of Andlang celebrates the conception of Sleipnir with a very specific ritual.</p><p>This year, High King Loki sees a new competitor for the role of Svadilfari take the field—Thor Odinson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This based on the kmeme prompt: http://norsekink.livejournal.com/6420.html?thread=11886868#t11886868
> 
> This story is wildly AU. Here, our favorite characters are not gods, but people. The mythology and background to this story I've kind of cobbled together from Norse mythology, Skyrim and my own brain. In order to avoid confusion, I want to lay out a few things.
> 
> 1) This takes place in the realm of Andlang, which is comprised of nine holds. Each hold is ruled by a jarl, and collectively they are ruled by the high king, who happens to be Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim.
> 
> 2) Yggdrasil is the tallest mountain in Andlang, and the home of the gods.
> 
> 3) There are nine dragon gods, each of which bears a passing resemblance to another animal. For our purposes, Svadilfari is a Horse-Dragon god.
> 
> As always, massive thanks to my beta and myth-keeper, AccursedSpatula!

When Loki was very young, his mother would sit by his bed at each night and read him a story.  Loki loved those quiet moments with his mother, even more than when his father, King Laufey, took him riding or exploring.  Queen Farbauti was wise and beautiful and patient, and Loki always knew that during their private moments together, his mother gave him her undivided attention.  Bedtime became a ritual for the two of them, and both looked forward to it.

So each night, when he’d been tucked beneath his blankets, he waited eagerly for his mother to come in, sit on the bed next to him, arrange the rich skirts of her gown, and open the book she’d brought, the illuminated pages bright with gilt and heavy ink.  As he’d gotten a little older, Loki realized that most of the tales she told had a lesson or moral hidden in them, carefully explained by his mother so that he understood what she was teaching him, but that revelation did not distract from his enjoyment of the tales any less.

Like any boy, he had his favorites and they changed as he grew.  But through every book, tale and tome his mother read to him, one remained his favorite.

“Tell me again,” he said one night, pushing away the book she’d brought.

Queen Farbauti raised one slim brow and gave her son an arch look.

“Please, Mother,” Loki amended, flushing slightly.  “I want to hear about Svadilfari and the Princess again.”

His mother smiled and set aside the book she’d brought.  “You will make a fine king one day, with your love of that story,” she murmured snuggling him close.  “Let’s see if I remember.

“The tale begins like this….”

 _Once upon a time, when the world was still young, there lived a King.  His name was Gangleri and he was a wise King, and a good King, and he ruled his land with a fair and even hand.  And King Gangleri had a daughter, Gefjun.  She was as beautiful as the risen sun, and she was the most precious thing he possessed._

 __  
_Gangleri loved Gefjun so much because she was his only child, and his beloved Queen had died giving life to their child.  There was nothing the King would not have done for her._

 __  
_Now, in those days, Andlang was not as we know it now.  Oh, there were the nine holds and the nine jarls, but there was no High King.  Each jarl was ruler of his own land, and though they stood together in bonds of friendship and brotherhood, Andlang was still divided._

 __  
_For many years, all was well.  Peace and prosperity were all the people knew.  But one dark day, a terrible army came from the East.  They brought war and terror with them, and slowly, little by little, one hold after another fell to them as they cast their shadow over Andlang._

 __  
_The people despaired, and the jarls came together to try and save their land.  Gangleri, because of his wisdom and courage, was proclaimed King, and it was decreed that if he could save Andlang, then he and all of his descendants would be named High King, and all would swear fealty to them forevermore._

 __  
_Gangleri was honored, but also troubled, for he had no idea how to save Andlang.  He loved his land and his people more than he own life, so he gathered his seers and his wise women, his wizards and his sages, and asked them to help him.  From all corners of the realm, they answered Gangleri’s call, and gathered at the King’s hall, Gladsheim.  They cast runes and spells, bargained with spirits and prayed to the gods.  For nine days and nine nights they did this, until finally they came before the King._

 __  
_Gangleri looked at them and asked, “Have you found a way to save my people?”_

 __  
_An old wise woman stepped forward, her back bent with age and her hands gnarled upon her staff.  “My King,” she said, “we have.  But we fear to speak of it to you for the price is too high.”_

 __  
_“Speak!” the King cried.  “Speak!  For if you have a way to save all that I love, then no price is too high.”_

 __  
_The old woman bowed her head.  “So be it.  We have prayed to the gods and they have answered.  You must make a sacrifice, my King.  A sacrifice of your body and your blood must be made to the gods at the top of Yggdrasil, and in return they will grant you the power to defeat your enemies.”_

 __  
_The King paled, but nodded his head.  “If it is my life that the gods require, then so be it.  I shall pay that cost, and gladly.”_

 __ _But the wise women shook her head.  “No, my King.  You misunderstand.  They gods do not want_ your _body and blood, but only something_ of _them—the Princess Gefjun.”  And her keen eyes looked to the princess._

 __  
_Gangleri gasped and cried out.  “No!  Not my daughter!  She is an innocent.  She has done nothing wrong.  Her blood should not need to be spilled to save us.”_

 __  
_“Father,” Gefjun said quietly, standing from her seat, for she was as brave as her father.  “If the gods require my life, then I give it freely to save our people and our land.”_

 __  
_The King cried and despaired, as did all those who heard, for the Princess was innocent and pure and all loved her.  But there was no other way, and Gefjun was resolute.  So it was with a heavy heart that the King watched as the Princess, dressed in her finest gown and accompanied by the mightiest warriors, was taken to the very top of Yggdrasil, where she was chained to an altar._

 __  
_King Gangleri kissed his daughter goodbye, and they wept bitter tears at being parted so, until finally the wise woman bade them to return down the mountain, leaving Gefjun alone._

 __  
_Now Gefjun was brave, with the heart of a dragon, but even the mightiest warrior would find their spirits quailing at being chained, cold and alone, until their doom came for them.  So the Princess wept, because she was afraid.  And she was still weeping when she heard the first sweep of great wings in the cold night air._

 __  
_Before her, a large form descended from the darkness and landed before her, ice and snow swirling around her as the great dragon settled._

 __  
_For a moment, Princess Gefjun forgot her fear and her tears stopped as she caught sight of the magnificent god before her.  Svadilfari, the Horse-Dragon, sat before her.  His scales were dark blue, the color of the deepest ocean, and his wings and legs were the deepest black of a night sky without moon or stars.  His great head, with its curling horns, inky mane and long teeth, lowered until he looked directly at her with his scarlet eyes, his icy breath freezing the tears on her cheeks._

 __  
_“Why do you cry?” he asked, his voice rumbling like thunder._

 __  
_“Because I am afraid,” Gefjun replied._

 __  
_“Of what?” Svadilfari asked, curious._

 __  
_“Of death,” Gefjun said, shivering as her terror returned._

 __  
_“Then why come?” asked the god.  “If you are so afraid, why do you wait here?”_

 __  
_“I came because my love for my people and my desire to save them is stronger than my fear.  I am afraid, but I am sure.  I would give anything to save Andlang.”_

 __  
_Svadilfari drew his great head back and stared at the Princess for long moments.  Gefjun, seeing that the god was kind enough to speak to her before eating her, gathered her courage._

 __  
_“Might I ask a boon?”_

 __  
_“Ask,” Svadilfari rumbled.  “And I shall see if I grant it.”_

 __  
_“All I ask is that you not make me suffer.  You may have my life, and I give it gladly, but I would ask that my death be gentle.”_

 __  
_The Horse-Dragon lowered his head once more.  “You would truly give your life so freely?” he asked._

 __  
_“Yes,” the Princess answered._

 __  
_“And if I do not grant your boon, do you still give it freely?”_

 __  
_Gefjun shook in her chains, but she nodded.  “Yes, I will bear any burden for my people.”_

 __  
_“A noble heart you have, Princess.  And what if I asked for some other sacrifice?  Would you still give it to me freely?”_

 __  
_Again, the Princess nodded.  “If it is within my power to give, then yes.  Whatever I posses, it is yours.”_

 __  
_At that, Svadilfari drew back, and Gefjun felt the crackling of his magic in the air.  Snow and ice swirled in a great whirlwind, and when it settled, the great dragon was gone.  In its place stood a man, tall and broad and fine-featured, with cobalt skin, inky hair and eyes like rubies, and the Princess knew that Svadilfari stood before her still._

 __  
_He came forward, unashamed of his nakedness and untouched by the cold.  And he reached up to gently wipe the last of Gefjun’s tears from her face.  “If you accept, Princess,” he said, “then we shall make a sacrifice of your body and blood, and there will be no pain and no more fear for you.”_

 __  
_“Yes,” Gefjun said softly, unafraid.  For, indeed, when she gazed upon Svadilfari in the form of a man, her heart was lost to him, no matter his strange appearance._

 __  
_Svadilfari came forward and with his bare hands shattered the chains that held Gefjun.  Then he lifted her into his arms and took her to wife._

 __  
_The next morning, King Gangleri and his court were shocked to find Gefjun sitting calmly in her own chambers, unharmed and smiling.  But the good King was so relieved that his beloved daughter had been spared that he did not question his good fortune, and embraced her eagerly._

 __  
_It soon became apparent that the Princess was with child, and all waited to see what blessed child her union with the god would produce.  The seers and wise women gave their blessings and prayers of protection, and the Princess quickened with an unnatural haste.  Within three months, she brought forth from her body a tiny, eight-legged colt, who, like his sire, had skin of the darkest blue, a mane and tail of the deepest black, and eyes of a fiery red._

 __  
_Now the people of Andlang were troubled.  Their Princess was sent to the top of Yggdrasil to save them, and they had thought her child to be the key.  But they wondered how such a creature could prove to be the turning point in the war against their enemy.  But the old crone bade them be silent and wait.  She warned that the gods worked in their own time and in their own ways, and it wasn’t for mortal men to question them._

 __  
_The colt, named Sleipnir by the Princess, grew prodigiously, and within a month was already the size of a yearling.  Within three months, Sleipnir was full grown, and the finest horse to be found in Andlang._

 __ _Yet the warriors were still troubled.  For though Sleipnir was the noblest of beasts, how could a_ horse _possibly turn the tide of their war against their foes?_

 __  
_But there was no time to ponder that question.  The army from the East came closer every days, pushing deeper and deeper into Andlang, until only the holds of Jotunheim, Vanaheim and Asgard stood untouched by the ravages of war.  And so King Gangleri called his brother jarls, his thanes and his warriors, and gathered them to face their enemy in one great battle, though he knew that the Valkyries would have much bloody work to do, and that by sunset most of his men would likely be feasting in the halls of Valhalla._

 __  
_The King and the warriors of Andlang girded themselves for war, and with hearts full of courage, stood shoulder to shoulder upon the battlefield, Gangleri at their head, clad in gleaming mail and wielding a heavy sword.  But just before he gave the order to charge, there came Sleipnir beside him.  The mighty beast pawed at the air with hooves as hard and sharp as steel, and he bellowed his challenge to the dark forces amassed before them._

 __  
_Gangleri was unsure what to do.  Clearly, his grandson desired battle, but how could he lead his daughter’s son to his death?  He attempted to send Sleipnir home, but the horse stood his ground, stamping at the earth in defiance.  And then he knelt on the ground before the King, and Gangleri had no choice but to grant Sleipnir his request, and so he mounted the beast’s great back._

 __  
_But a strange thing happened when he did so.  The King felt stronger, braver and more confidant.  He saw the line of his men ripple as they too felt the same greatness swell in them.  Gangleri felt hope bloom in his chest, and when he raised his sword aloft, the host at his back roared their support and charged without fear._

 __  
_Into the fray Sleipnir leapt, his hooves crushing bones and skulls beneath him, while on his back, the King swept his sword in mighty arcs, felling all who came near.  And Sleipnir’s coat, which had seemed no more than soft skin, was suddenly as hard as dragon scales.  Arrows bounced harmlessly off of him, swords, spears and axes all turned aside when they tried to pierce his flesh._

 __  
_And the great horse and his rider did not falter.  On and on he and the King fought, indefatigable, until they ran red with the blood of their enemies.  So, too, did his men fight without tiring, and though many were wounded or killed, it was only by the most egregious of wounds.  Gangleri’s forces held, and then pushed forward, until the sun set and they stood victorious upon the battlefield._

 __  
_They returned home to Gladsheim, where the warriors celebrated their victory with a feast that lasted three days and three nights.  And Sleipnir was proclaimed a hero, and the people clamored to see their strange and wondrous prince who had saved them all._

 __  
_And when the feasting was done, once more did the armies of Andlang set out, Gangleri mounted upon Sleipnir’s broad back.  And town by town, city by city, hold by hold, they drove the vile host out, back beyond their borders, until the day came when all of Andlang was free and unshadowed by the clouds of war._

 __  
_Then did all return home, and the jarls knelt before Gangleri and proclaimed him High King, and swore fealty to him and his heirs.  When the last jarl did swear, the form of Sleipnir, standing beside Gangleri, did shimmer with magic.  And there, where the great horse had once been, stood a man.  He was tall and broad, with hair of the darkest black and eyes of the deepest blue.  And Princess Gefjun rushed to her son, to hold and embrace him as she’d been unable to do before when he’d worn his first form._

 __  
_King Gangleri, too, embraced the man, and called for robes of the finest silk to be brought and a crown fitted for his head, and with joy proclaimed Sleipnir his heir.  And Sleipnir also received the fealty and oaths of the people._

 __  
_For a time, King Gangleri, Princess Gefjun and Prince Sleipnir lived in harmony and contentment.  But the longing looks Gefjun cast up Yggdrasil did not go unnoticed by her father and her son, and one day, Gangleri awoke to find his daughter and his grandson missing, with only the reports from a guard that he had seen them going together up to the top of Yggdrasil._

 __  
_A week later, Sleipnir returned alone, and told Gangleri that his father had come for his mother atop Yggdrasil, and that she would not return.  The good King mourned the loss of his daughter, but was comforted by the fact that would always be safe and happy._

 __  
_In time, Gangleri grew old, and when his hair and beard were as white as snow, he bid his people goodbye.  He embraced Sleipnir, and told him that he would be a fine king, and then passed quietly in the night, his soul joining those of his forefathers._

 __  
_King Sleipnir took a wife, and she bore him strong sons and lovely daughters.  And each year, he and all the people of Andlang honored the sacrifice of his mother and the benevolence of his father, and in return their realm was blessed with good fortune and prosperity._

 __“And so,” Loki’s mother continued, snuggling her sleepy son tightly into his blankets, “that’s why we honor Svadilfari and Princess Gefjun each year.”

“At the festival,” Loki murmured.

“Yes, that’s right, at the festival.”

“How come I can’t go?  I want to,” Loki complained sleepily.

“You will someday, dear heart,” Farbauti said, placing a gentle kiss on her son’s brow.  “Someday.  But you’re still much too young to worry about that right now.”

“Promise?” he mumbled.

“I promise, Loki.”

“Love you, Mother.”

“I love you, too, my little prince.  Now sleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we have another installment! Much thanks to AccursedSpatula who giggles with me over ideas and cleans up my writing.
> 
> And just know that I seriously considered adding the tag "lil Loki boners" for this chapter.

On the winter solstice that Loki turned thirteen, he was informed that like all Andlang citizens, he would be allowed to watch the rite if he so chose. He spent the rest of the winter looking forward to it with growing excitement. It was the biggest festival in Andlang, and being allowed to attend was a mark of passing into adulthood. But despite its scale and importance, he didn’t know much about it. Adults were curiously tight-lipped about it, and none of Loki’s peers knew any more than he did. Loki was curious to find out more about it, as well as eager to participate.

As the snows began to melt ahead of the spring equinox, Jotunheim began preparing for the influx of travelers that always came with the rite. The roads to market were crowded as people brought in the last of their extra good to sell to merchants, who would in turn sell them for even higher prices to those staying in the city. Servants bustled about Gladsheim, preparing all of the extra rooms for the jarls ands their families who would be staying with King Laufey and Queen Farbauti.

When the official day to begin the festivities was no more than a week away, the jarls began arriving. Loki’s parents greeted them warmly, and they introduced him proudly to their guests. Loki preened when they did. He’d met them all before, of course, but there was something about being introduced in an official capacity that always set off a warm glow of pride within him.

The night before the festival began, Laufey and Farbauti hosted a grand feast in Gladsheim’s biggest hall. Mead and conversation flowed for hours, while endless dishes were continually set out before them. Loki tried to listen to as many conversations as he could, but the hall was simply too crowded and noisy to catch much. There was a great deal of ribald ribbing and laughter, and everyone was in good spirits, so he simply went along with it.

Late in the evening, before the feast had begun to wind down, a number of guests began to leave, and Loki was puzzled as to why they seemed to mostly be the younger warriors in the hall. Of all the guests, he’d expected them to be the ones to stay the latest. And then, not long after they began to depart, Laufey and Farbauti bade their guests a good night and withdrew from the hall as well, taking Loki with them.

Once in the relative silence of the hall, his parents looked down at him with nearly identical grave expressions, and then looked at each other. Farbauti reached out to cup her husband’s cheek. “Go wait for me, love. I will speak to him.”

Laufey nodded and squeezed his wife’s hand fondly. “Take all the time you need. I suspect he’ll need you more than I this week.”

Loki and his mother watched his father walk down the hall and disappear around a corner…but not in the direction of his parents’ room. Frowning, Loki looked at his mother, wondering at this strange turn of events. She just smiled reassuringly at him, and tucked her hand through his arms. “Come, my dear. Let’s talk in your rooms.”

In silence they walked back to Loki’s room, and Farbauti waited in the sitting room while Loki changed for sleep. Once he was in bed, she came in and perched on the edge, making Loki feel like a small child again, being tucked in for the night by his mother.

“Loki,” she began slowly, clearly choosing her words carefully. “Your father and I are concerned about how you’re going to take this upcoming ritual.”

He laughed. “Mother, it’s a festival. What could be so difficult to take about it?”

Farbauti’s clear gaze, however, caused his laughter to trail off uneasily. “The ritual and the festival around it are adult things, my son. And while you are on the cusp of becoming a man, you are not one yet. There are still many things you are ignorant of, and some things that you will see that are likely to confuse or even upset you.”

“Like what?” he asked suspiciously.

But his mother shook her head. “No, I will not spoil the surprise or tell you anything to jeopardize your first honest assessment of things. You will see tomorrow when the festival begins. Just know that I will be right by your side when you have questions and concerns.”

Leaning forward, she brushed his hair from his forehead and gently kissed his cheek. Loki allowed the touch for a moment before squirming away. “Mother,” he whined.

“All right, all right,” she laughed softly. “Be that way.” She stood, smoothing out her skirts. “I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, dear heart.”

“Good night, Mother.” He waited until the door had closed and then flopped down on his bed, turning over his mother’s words in his mind. Really, what could possibly be so upsetting about the festival?

~*~

The next morning, sitting outside in the stands with his family and the families of the other jarls, watching a procession of naked men be introduced, his mother’s words didn’t seem nearly so funny to Loki. Good breeding and etiquette were the only things that kept him in his seat, and the shock off of his face. It took a good long while of sitting there, hearing but not listening to the men reciting their heritage and deeds one after another before the meaning of it all sank in. And when it did, he stiffened in shock.

Oh.

_Oh._

These men were all competing for the role of Svadilfari in the ritual that ended the festival. The rite that celebrated the act that saved their kingdom. The moment where they would portray the physical embodiment of the Horse-Dragon, recreating the sacred union between one of their gods and the ancient princess.

The princess whose role would be played by the king. His _father_.

His head felt suddenly light as the entire meaning of the event crashed down on him and he afraid that he was going to, for the first time in his life, pass out. Then a cool hand was cupping the back of his neck and his mother was murmuring quietly in his ear. “Breathe, Loki. Don’t think about anything, just focus on me.” She kept talking, a low stream of comforting words grounding Loki until he took a deep breath and straightened, loosening the death grip he had on the arms of his chair.

“We can talk soon, at lunch,” she murmured, and he just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

When the opening ceremony was done, the nobles retired to a large pavilion to eat while the common people stayed where they were, producing food from bags and baskets. Inside the ornate tent, Farbauti drew Loki behind a separate partition in the back. And as soon as they were alone, the shock and fear Loki had been harboring had been spilling out.

“This is what the ritual has always been?” he cried in a hissed whisper. “All those years, telling me those stories, _this_ is what it has been?!”

“Calm down, Loki,” Farbauti said soothingly. “Would you tell me that you were really old enough to know the truth then?”

“No! No, but I—” Loki clenched his hands in his hair, mussing it and not caring. “And I have to watch! I have to watch as one of these, these men…fucks my father!”

The words escaped before he could stop them, and Loki was shocked at his behavior, to utter such words not only in front of his mother but to her. If the crude, harsh language bothered her, however, she gave no sign. She just kept looking at him with the same kind concern and love she always had.

“It’s a lot to take in your first year,” she said quietly. “It always is. That’s why we wanted to make sure you had someone to talk to.”

“It’s not that!” He broke off, swallowing hard. “This always happens. Right? Every year you all do this?”

“Yes.”

“And someday, when I’m king, I’ll…I’ll….” The words trailed off as he nervously gulped for air.

Understanding dawned on Farbauti’s face, and she hurriedly closed the distance between them. She cupped his face in her hands, and Loki was shocked to realize he was nearly as tall as his mother. “Is that what worries you? Oh, my love, don’t. Here, come sit. Allow me to explain.” She guided them both to a bench and sat down, smoothing her skirts while Loki dropped down heavily beside her.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” she said, squeezing his arm. “According to tradition, Gefjun is supposed to be represented by whoever rules Andlang, be it a queen or king, and neither case is without its complications. It perhaps seems simpler if it is a woman, but there are other considerations to take into account. In fact, most of the exceptions apply if a queen is playing Gefjun.”

“Exceptions?” Loki mumbled.

“Yes, exceptions. There are a surprising number. Tradition dictates that the role be played by a monarch, but sometimes that’s impossible. In a situation where the king or queen cannot do it themselves, they are allowed to appoint a substitute.”

“Like what?”

“Well, say the monarch is elderly or ill. No one would expect them to risk their health for the sake of tradition. Or even too young. Should a child be on the throne, it is inconceivable that they be part of the ritual. In cases like that, it is well within their right to name someone to take their place, willingly, of course.”

“That makes sense…” he said slowly.

Farbauti nodded. “A substitute can also be named if the person honestly and truly does not wish to participate. Some men cannot bring themselves to submit in such a fashion,” Loki’s cheeks flamed scarlet at those words, “and others hold too tightly to their marriage vows. For others, they simply cannot bear the scrutiny of such a large number of people.”

“And Father?” he asked hesitantly.

“You father accepts what is,” his mother said, reaching out to fix his hair. “He takes no excessive enjoyment of the act, but neither does it upset him to participate. He looks at it the way it should be looked at, as a gift to his people, a sacrifice on his part for their continued prosperity.”

“I see.” Loki looked down, fidgeting, hands twisted together in his lap. “Do…do people ever… _enjoy_ it?”

“Oh, Loki,” Farbauti laughed. “Of course some people enjoy it. Some throw themselves whole-heartedly into the affair and embrace it entirely. But that is their choice, and no one is judged much for their choices. The only time people truly object is when an otherwise healthy ruler abstains for no discernable reason. It’s seen as an…affront to the gods, I suppose. And with the commons so willing to accept superstition and blame every minor ill on something, many in the past have found it best to avoid those accusations where they can.”

She covered his hands with hers. “Do not worry about yourself just yet. You are still many years from having to make a decision about what you will do, and when you do have to make a decision, you will be an adult and far more prepared to deal with the situation.”

Loki nodded, shoulders slumping. “I just never realized….”

“Few do,” she murmured. “It is something most parents don’t look forward to explaining to their children, despite their own personal enjoyment of the festival.”

That got a brief laugh from Loki. He could well understand wanting to avoid such a conversation. He didn’t particularly want to be having this one.

“Is there anything else you wanted to ask?”

He shook his head. “No. No, at least not right now. Except…” he murmured, something occurring to him. “In the past, I’ve heard people call father “blooded.” And me “twice-blooded,” but no one has ever explained why. Does it have to do with… _this_?”

“Ah, yes, it does. How to put this? You see, Loki, your father was conceived during the ritual. His mother, your grandmother Authumbla, played the role of Gefjun, though she was married at that point. The man who fathered Laufey was the Avatar of Svadilfari that year, not the grandfather you knew.”

Loki blinked. “And…and he was fine with that?” he asked incredulously.

Farbauti lifted one delicately arched eyebrow. “Did he have a choice? It’s considered a very good thing, my dear. A sign that Svadilfari has given his direct blessing. He loved your father like a son, though he wasn’t one of his body.”

“Oh. And me? If…if Father was playing the role, then how can I also be blooded?”

For the first time, Farbauti’s cheeks pinked slightly. “Yes, well, _that_ ,” she murmured, clearing her throat and looking away. “You see, you were also conceived the night of the ritual. Your father came to me that night, still carrying the seed of the Avatar.”

Loki’s jaw dropped. “I…didn’t need to know that.”

“You asked,” his mother reminded him smugly.

“Right,” he muttered, regretting for the first time his mother’s logical, pragmatic attitude toward things. “And that’s…also considered a good thing?”

“Very good,” she agreed. “Your magic is very strong, Loki, and will only grow stronger as you get older. Not all superstitions are that. Some are grounded in some very real truth. Among the heroes of our realm, the greatest have been blooded, though it is very rare. And to be twice-blooded it yet rarer still. It is a good omen for you. We know not what the gods have in store for us, but I believe that whatever comes, if anything does indeed come, that you will be more than prepared.

“Do not fret about this, my son. When the time comes, we will be here for you.” She punctuated her words with a fierce squeeze of his hands, and something in Loki’s chest eased knowing that he had his parents’ full support.

A few long moments of silence passed. “So what happens now?” he asked.

“Now? Now we go and get something to eat.”

“No,” he said. “I meant after.”

She chuckled. “I know what you meant. Now we watch the rest of the festival. The men who hope to play the Avatar will compete for several days. All tests of strength and endurance designed to prove that they are worthy to play the role of the god.”

“And do they have to do that naked?”

Mirth danced in Farbauti’s eyes. “How else is the crowd to judge?”

Loki groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “And they don’t find anything humiliating about that?”

Firm fingers slid beneath his chin and forced his head up. “There is nothing for them to be ashamed of,” Farbauti said decisively. “Should they be ashamed of their bodies? Or of their prowess? To be an Avatar carries great honor, Loki. It is a title they will carry for life, and they do so proudly. There is no judgment during this, or after. It is not something to tease and embarrass a person with. It is a source of great pride for all involved, and you will _not_ forget that. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mother,” he replied quickly. When his mother used that tone, she was not to be ignored or trifled with.

“Good.” She stood up and held out her hand to Loki, who took it. “Now, let’s get something to eat.”

She led him back out to the main area of the tent and they ate quickly. He was even permitted some un-watered wine with his meal, and though the taste was odd, it made him feel warm and slightly relaxed. When they made their way back out the stands for the competitions to begin, Farbauti sat very close to him, explaining things quietly.

Those men who were competing seemed to be made of the same mold—tall, strong, thickly-muscled warriors who displays _were_ impressive. But not all were identical. Some were shorter or leaner, and what they lacked in physical stature, they made up for with agility and cunning.

Beside him, Farbauti explained to Loki that since the idea was to embody a god, the man chosen should have a physical form to reflect there. Scars earned through honorable battle were fine, but defects or malformations ruled a man out. Likewise, they did not have to be a certain height or size, but the physical nature of the various tests meant that some men would simply not be strong enough to win, and so were immediately ruled out. Other than that, who ultimately prevailed was left up to each man’s own skill.

There were tests of strength, where the competitors lifted and heaved logs and rocks. Tests of martial skill with hurled spears and axes. Races to test endurance and speed. There was no official judge at any of these. When a man did poorly, he bowed out, to the cheers of the crowd for having given it his best effort. The final contests were simply wrestling matches, with the men facing off against one another to prove their superiority, until eventually only one stood victorious over the others, and he was crowned the Avatar of Svadilfari.

Through it all, through the days of competition, Loki sat watching in growing discomfort. Around him, he could hear the crowd’s appreciation of each man’s…assets, and such frank talk made him uncomfortable. He found, to his horror, that as he watched the flushed, sweating, naked men, their own lengths half-hard from their exertions, that his own stirred in his lap. He shifted, desperate to hide that fact. Despite what his mother had said, he was humiliated at the thought of anyone finding out. And when the end ended and he retired to his room, he couldn’t help touching himself, exploring these strange new sensations that left him breathless and wrung out and scrambling for a cloth to clean himself with.

As he sat one day, watching the wrestling, but trying not to see, hands folded in his lap, his mother said very quietly. “It’s perfectly normal, you know.”

“What?!” He looked up, eyes wide in shock.

“What you’re feeling, it’s natural,” she replied in the same quiet voice, keeping her eyes fixed on the field and the men there.

Loki felt his face grow very, very warm, and he snapped his eyes away from his mother even though she wasn’t looking at him. “But they’re _men_ ,” he hissed.

“Yes,” she said evenly. “And I recall telling you that some people enjoyed this very much, and that there was no shame in it. If you enjoy it, then it is a boon to you, and you should consider yourself fortunate.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he muttered.

“Very well then, we won’t speak of it. But know that it does not matter to us, Loki. We love you.”

Loki didn’t reply, and he kept his hands right where they were until his…little problem went away on its own. And he didn’t mention it again.

As the days passed, Loki didn’t interact much with his father. He sat with him during the competition and during meals, but they didn’t really talk. Loki could understand why. As uncomfortable as the conversation had been with his mother, he most definitely did _not_ want to discuss it with his father, and reasoned that the man probably felt the same way. He was looking forward to when the ritual was finally concluded and they could just go back to being a family again.

Finally, on the last day, with the Avatar crowned, everyone made their way up Yggdrasil as the sun began to set, and gathered before the altar that waited there. Loki looked at the ancient stone block and felt a shiver run through him. If the tales were to be believed, this was where a god had revealed himself. It was a sacred, holy place, and he could feel the weight of its importance. Beneath his feet and in the air around him, he could feel the currents of magic tugging at him, something those without magic would be unable to sense. It slid through him, settling him, and suddenly all his worry and fretting seemed silly. It felt right that they should come here, like this, to celebrate.

Laufey came out first, walking through the crowd as it parted before him. He was dressed in nothing but a simple, woolen kilt, and he said nothing as he lay back against the altar, though the cold stone must have been uncomfortable on the naked skin of his back. Loki watched with a sense of detachment as his father’s guards wound chains around his wrists to mimic what had been done to Gefjun. Then they stepped back and the crowd grew silent, waiting.

From the other side of the crowd came the Avatar. Like with the king, the crowd also parted before him and he stepped forth, completely bare save for the headdress of horns he wore, and the blue paint that was streaked over his body, imitating what the princess must have seen when Svadilfari stood before her.

The Avatar crossed to the altar and stood before Laufey. Words were spoken, the ritual calling for the two to reenact the offering and accepting of Gefjun’s sacrifice. Then the Avatar leaned forward, freeing Laufey’s wrists and with a quick twist of his hand, undid the tie of the king’s kilt, baring him before all watching.

Then a part of Loki reasserted itself, and he looked away from the intimate act that followed, focusing his gaze past the two, only keeping them in his peripheral vision. The crowd erupted into cheers when it was the over, the harsh cry of the Avatar signaling the end, and Laufey was helped up, a robe brought forth to clothe him against the chill mountain air. Together the entire crowd made its way back down Yggdrasil and to the great hall of Gladsheim, where a feast awaited them.

Laufey and Farbauti stayed only long enough to give their blessing and then they retired. As no one seemed surprised or offended, Loki realized that this must be their custom, something they did every year.

There were many toasts to the Avatar, who still wore the remnants of his blue paint, though the headdress was long gone and he’d been dressed in a fine suit of armor. Loki stayed for a little while, and then slipped away to his own rooms, where he lay in his bed, shivering at the thought of what it would be like when he was king.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, god, I seriously apologize for the awkwardness of the sex in this chapter. Later sex will be better, trust me, but this is just.... It is what it is. XD

Five years later, Loki stood alone to welcome the jarls arriving for the festival.

The first to arrive, nearly a week before any others were expected, was Jarl Odin Borrson of Asgard, with his wife, Lady Frigga. They made the customary greetings and exchanged pleasantries, but as soon as they retired from the hall and to Loki’s private quarters, Frigga rushed forward, enfolding Loki in a tight embrace.

“Oh, Loki,” she murmured, tucking his head into the welcoming hollow of her shoulder. “I’m so _sorry_.”

The simple exclamation of shared grief and understanding shattered the carefully held poise Loki clung to, and with a small cry, he returned the embrace, collapsing beneath the weight of his grief and anxiety. Frigga guided them to a low couch and held him, rocking him gently while he wept.

It still seemed so unreal to think about how it had come to this, orphaned by a plague that had swept through Andlang, touching all of them before it had claimed Laufey and Farbauti, leaving Loki to assume the throne just before he turned eighteen. There had been brief talk of regency, but with Loki so close to his majority, it was decided it would be less complicated to simply let Loki take the throne alone for those last few months before he came of age. So, with his father’s crown placed upon his head, Loki was left to struggle through the first months of his reign, burdened by grief and disaster.

The other jarls had come forward to help, after the threat of the plague had waned, after the sparsely attended funerals of his parents, and Loki was truly grateful for their aid, but they couldn’t spare much time from their own lands, and he was relieved when they eventually left, taking their pitying stares with them.

He struggled on, alone, relying on his father’s advisors and his own upbringing to try and keep order, to do what was right for his people. He’d done an adequate job. The people knew it was an extraordinarily difficult time for him, and that he was _trying_ was enough to secure their support, at least for now. And just when he’d been settling in, beginning to get a grasp on everything, the festival approached, and immediately threw him into a panic of an entirely different sort.

His parents had always thought there would be more time to ease Loki into the role, to teach him all the rules and protocols of the ritual. But then they’d all fallen ill and there was no time to think about that. In the scant moments they weren’t delirious, his parents had tried to impart what knowledge and reassurance they could, but nothing about _this_. There had been many more important, more pressing subjects to educate him on, and Loki was left knowing only that there was so much he didn’t know, things that he needed to know in order to do his job properly, and he had no idea who to turn to.

And then a letter from Frigga, his mother’s closest friend, had arrived, asking if she and Odin could come early to help him prepare. Loki’s response had been on its way almost before the ink was even dry.

So, now, Frigga held him and allowed him to vent the grief he’d kept bottled up for months, afraid of showing anyone such weakness. She stroked his hair and rocked him, murmuring nonsense in his ear like he was a child, and he accepted it until his tears were exhausted, until every part of him hurt and ached, but there was nothing left to get out. Then he pulled himself away, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, and giving a watery laugh when Frigga held forth a handkerchief for him to use.

“Thank you,” he said, voice still thick, “both of you, for coming early.”

“It’s the least we could do. These are very trying circumstances for anyone, and you above all deserve whatever help we can give.”

Loki nodded, and went to hand the handkerchief back before thinking better of it and shoving it into his own pocket. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted quietly.

Reaching over, Frigga gently clasped his hands in hers. “You could appoint a representative.”

“No. I can’t. Not right now. You must be aware that the people already think that Father’s abstention last year was the cause of the plague. If I don’t do it now….”

“But—”

“He’s right.” The first words from Odin made them both look over. “The jarls…we know better. We wouldn’t judge you for skipping this year. But the people?” Odin rubbed one hand along his bearded jaw. “If Loki doesn’t do it this year, he won’t have to worry about it next year because he won’t be king.”

“That’s hardly fair to him.”

Odin shrugged. “He is king.”

“It’s all right,” Loki interrupted quietly. “I do understand and I accept what must be, but the fact remains….” He broke off, unable to look either one of them in the face, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “The fact remains that I…don’t know what to do.”

“We do,” Frigga assured him. “And we will help you however we can.” She paused and looked over at her husband, who nodded for her to continue. “Odin and I discussed it much on the way here, and we think it best if the competition were smaller this year.”

Loki frowned. He had no problem with that plan, personally, but given how much public perception was riding on this, he didn’t know if it was the best course of action. “You don’t think people will object?”

“No. It’s fairly customary to tone down celebrations after a disaster; no one will think anything wrong with that.” She paused, tilting her head in thought. “You know Odin was an Avatar, right?” She waited for Loki’s nod. “He will handle the paring down of the competitions with your councilors. Perhaps emphasizing quality over quantity, my love?” The last was directed to her husband, and he shot her a smile and rueful laugh. The easy affection between them made Loki’s heart squeeze in his chest as he realized he would never witness it again between his parents.

“I’ll start talking to them now,” Odin said, and gave Loki a brief bow before exiting the room.

“Now what?” Loki asked, after the door had shut behind him.

“Now,” Frigga said firmly, “you turn in early for the night and get some rest.”

“But the other things I need to know.”

She cut off his protests with a firm shake of her head. “Tomorrow will be more than early enough to begin. You rest. Tonight, I will talk with the servants, see that the ritual chambers are opened and cleaned out properly, and then in the morning we can begin going through everything.”

He licked his lips and nodded reluctantly. It felt…cowardly to leave this for others when it was his duty.

“Loki.” Frigga reached forward and smoothed his hair back from his brow. “You’re doing a wonderful job so far. Your parents would be so proud of you. But you’re not a god, though the blood of one may run in your veins. You need to take care of yourself. Do that and let us take care of everything else. Please.”

“All right.” He nodded and pushed himself up off the couch. “All right.”

“Then I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.” Frigga stood, pulled him in close for another tight hug, patted his cheek and then swept from the room.

Loki didn’t even bother to undress as he made his way to his bedchambers, just kicked his boots off and collapsed face down on the bed before curling up in the center. Things were still overwhelming, and there was still a lot to be done, but for the first moment since his parents had fallen ill, he felt the faintest bit of relief and hope.

~*~

In the morning, he woke late, immediately feeling guilty for lying in bed so long. He would have rushed through getting ready in order to deal with all the things before him, but the servants were implacable as they went about their tasks, readying his bath and laying out a large breakfast and clean clothes. Any thought of simply ignoring them was dismissed when one of the women quietly said they were only doing what the Lady Frigga asked them to. Loki sighed, giving up the fight, and allowed himself to enjoy the comforts.

By the time he was washed, dressed and fed, it was nearly midday. Wanting to get started with the preparations, if only to get them out of the way, he sought out Frigga. He found her in the library, drinking tea and reading, but she looked up the moment he entered, and patted the seat at her side. He sank down onto the cushions as she closed the books and set it on a side table.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I did, actually.”

“Good. Then if you’ve nothing else to attend to, we should get started.” Loki nodded and made to rise, but Frigga put a hand on his arm, halting him. “I realize going over this might not be the easiest thing, but if you have any questions, any at _all_ , please don’t hesitate to ask.”

He managed a half-hearted smile. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.” She released his arm and he stood, offering her his hand to help her up, and then tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked the halls.

They went down a flight of stairs that Loki had always known about and seen often, but had never ventured down himself. It had always been off-limits and he’d never questioned or disobeyed his parents. He always knew that eventually he’d see what lay downstairs, that all the mysteries would be answered. Just….not like this. He’d never expected it to be like this.

The wide double doors at the bottom of the stairs opened easily and silently on well-oiled hinges, and closed just as soundlessly behind them. Frigga turned the key in the lock, ensuring they wouldn’t be disturbed, and then stood back to allow Loki to look around.

It was one big room, he realized, though one corner was occupied by a lavish bathing area, with a sunken tub big enough for several people and benches surrounding it, some of them padded. Shelves along the walls held jars and bottles, that upon further inspection proved to be a wide variety of scented oils and lotions, and the cabinets were stocked with plush towels.

In another corner were a table and chairs, though they seemed more functional than anything else.

The rest of the room, more than half of it, was devoted to a large bed and a number of chests and wardrobes. The bed was even bigger than the one in the royal chambers, and Loki’s first thought—looking at the massive and well-wrought construction—was that it was meant to hold several people. He flushed at the thought and put it out of his mind for the moment. A peek into one of the wardrobes revealed a selection of robes and soft sleep clothes—for both men and women, he noted idly.

Loki turned back to Frigga when his perusal was done. “So, this is where the… _preparation_ takes place?”

“Yes,” she said easily, “and we’ll get to that in a moment, but I wanted to go over a few things with you first.” She paused, eyes flitting over the furnishings before meeting his gaze once more. “Whatever happens in this room stays here. To gossip and tell tales of what goes on is in incredibly poor taste. Everyone who enters here is aware of that, and should they violate that trust, they should not be allowed back.”

“Is such a warning really necessary?”

“Yes,” Frigga insisted. “Yes, it is, because you are young for this, Loki, and have no experience with it. You should feel free in here and knowing that you are safe is a large part of that.”

Loki nodded. “Understood. Now, how exactly does this work?”

A smile touched her mouth as she pondered the question. “Whatever personal choices a monarch makes, be it to select a representative or to take part themselves, the chosen one always spends the week before the ritual down here, a total of seven nights, and they are always attended. That includes anyone who is chosen to stand in for the king or queen if it’s necessary. Typically, for a king, he is attended by several…handmaidens, unmarried young women.”

Loki’s brow arched high in disbelief. Frigga laughed. “They are all nobly born ladies, I’ll have you know. It has proven to be an excellent way for a king to meet prospective brides, your mother being just one example.”

Warmth flooded Loki’s face. “M-My mother…. She….”

“Farbauti was Laufey’s favorite from the moment she stepped into the chamber, I think,” Frigga said fondly. “He was smitten. A hard blow to the rest of us, to be sure, but she was so loveable that our disappointment was short lived.”

“The rest of…” Loki trailed off. “You? Oh, gods, I didn’t know.”

Frigga laughed, rich and low, filling the chamber with her gentle mirth. “You had no reason to. It was my last year attending to your father. After that, he suffered no one but your mother to be with him. Besides, whatever temporary disappointment I felt, it was erased when I met a rather handsome Avatar a few years later.” Her eyes twinkled as Loki couldn’t help but laugh as well and shook his head.

“What about queens?” he asked, out of idle curiosity. “Do they have a harem of nobly-born young men to attend them?”

“Sometimes. Some prefer to be attended by their friends, but a goodly number take advantage of the license the week provides. And sometimes,” she added impishly, “a king or queen prefers to be attended by both. The decision is, ultimately, theirs.”

“I see.” That was good to know, that what he ultimately preferred—whatever it may be—would be at his discretion. “And so what do these attendants do?”

“For the most part, their purpose is to relax and pamper you, see to whatever needs you may have.”

“Including sexual ones?” he challenged her.

“If you want, yes,” she said calmly. “But make no mistake, Loki, the women are here by _their_ choice as well as yours. Sex isn’t always expected, but if it happens, it’s not a surprise, not when a lot of the preparation _is_ sexual in nature. And…precautions are taken, to ensure that none may seek to entrap you as a result of those activities.”

He looked away from her, staring at the tub and bed in turns. “What do they do?”

Frigga took a deep breath. “You’ve seen the ritual, you know what is required for the act itself. Between men, it’s a more delicate and detailed matter than between a man and woman.”

“I know what’s required between men,” he interjected hurriedly, wishing his damnable flush would go away.

Frigga paused tactfully. “Then you know there’s no time for that during the ritual itself. The task laid before your attendants is to ensure that you are ready when the time comes without the preparation a lover would take. Here,” she crossed to one of chests, kneeling gracefully before it and lifting the cover.

Loki followed and knelt beside her, looking on as she reached in and moved aside some cloth. Beneath the cloth, nestled in yet more cloth and laid out carefully, was a row of carved stone implements. Loki sucked in a sharp breath, noting the unmistakable shapes. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Frigga agreed. “I don’t think I need to explain their purpose.”

“No,” he said quickly, “you don’t.”

She shifted over to another chest, repeating her actions. That chest held similar objects, but there were some key differences. Unable to help himself, he reached in and picked one up to examine it. It was shorter that the other phalluses, with a more tapered shape leading to a flared base. The one in the his hand was slimmer than the others, and looking into the chest, he could see that the others were bigger, increasingly incrementally in girth until the last, whose size made him blink.

It didn’t take too much thought to guess at their purpose, but he cast a look to the side at Frigga for confirmation.

“These are for during the day. For you to…wear,” she explained, cheeks coloring a bit. “You would use a bigger one each day to help you adjust.”

“You expect me to use these outside the room? When I’m conducting my business? When I’m around other people?” he sputtered.

“You don’t _have_ to,” she stressed, “but it would be a good idea. No one wants to see anyone injured during the ritual, and many of the Avatars are not small men.”

Loki set the…the plug back into the chest and closed his eyes. He wasn’t stupid. He understood the purpose of such objects and in having others to help and offer comfort. That didn’t make it any easier to bear. Frigga squeezed his arm gently.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know.” Her words were quiet and offered nothing but understanding and support.

After taking a moment to just breathe, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “What about this year? The festival begins in a week, and I’m just learning about this now. Is there time to find any…attendants? And how will they know what to do?”

“We could find some, yes, and I will instruct them when the time comes,” Frigga assured him. “But, Loki…do you even _want_ attendants this year? I meant what I said about their purpose being to relax and pamper you, but will all of this being so new and unsettling…. You don’t have to have any. It’s not a requirement.”

He thought about it. What she said rang too true to him. He had a hard enough time getting through some days, and the thought of baring himself, leaving himself so vulnerable to near-strangers made his stomach twist. And besides, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to prepare himself. “I could be by myself?”

“If you want, yes. I think it might be best for you. And if would give you more time to get used to the idea for next year. Time to find those you’d like to be here with you.”

Loki breathed out a relieved breath. “I think I would prefer that.”

“Then that’s what you shall have.” She paused for a moment. “I could attend you, if you wanted someone.”

Loki looked at her sharply. The hesitance and uncertainty in her voice were faint, but there all the same. Her previous words ran through his head, “unmarried, young women.” Frigga was married to a jarl, was a respected wife and mother. She would do this if her king needed it of her, but it was clear that she loved her husband and would prefer not to be put in that position.

He shook his head. Loki appreciated the offer, but with Frigga filling the role of his mother, he wouldn’t be comfortable with her there. “No.” He shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”

She smiled, relieved, and shut the chests before standing. “All right, then let me show you some of the other things.” She showed him bottles of oil to use, herbs to sprinkle in his bath to encourage relaxation. She pointed out which clothes would fit him and the small bell pull that would summon ordinary servants if he needed anything.

When all was said and done, there wasn’t much more to explain about the room. There were some chests she didn’t open, and Loki guessed that the contents were his to explore at his leisure. He thanked her as they left and she pressed the key to the room into his hands. Frigga brushed off his thanks with a kiss to his cheek. “My pleasure, Loki. It’s the least I can do. Tomorrow, you can begin going over the changes with Odin.”

Loki nodded, and when they were back upstairs, made his excuses to slip away to his room. He was tired and nervous, but the pervading fear at not knowing what to do was gone, and left a dull relief in its wake. He still wasn’t looking forward to this very much, but it seemed bearable now.

~*~

Loki approved the changes Odin suggested without question or comment. They weren’t very big, mostly just keeping the numbers down and shortening the amount of time they would take up each day. They were things that he probably could have come up with on his own, but the sheer relief he felt at being able hand the responsibility off to someone else and just not worry about it kept him from voicing any of those thoughts.

Odin and Frigga seemed to understand and didn’t ask him for approval or decisions. They simply talked when he was present, sitting together or over meals, and allowed him to interject when he wanted to, or sit quietly and listen when he didn’t.

As the festival drew closer, guests began to arrive, and Loki forced himself to assume the proper mantle of king and host. Frigga silently assumed the role his mother had played, welcoming them and making them comfortable, while Odin was a solid presence at his side, tactfully stepping in to help deal with the inevitable talk and politics.

The night before the first day of the festival, Loki waited until the halls were empty and then slipped downstairs, the key to the room below clenched in his fist. It didn’t matter that everyone would know he was in there, would know what he was doing, he wanted to be alone, away from prying eyes and ears.

Once inside, he locked the doors behind him and just sagged against them for several moments. Finally, he pushed himself upright and stepped further into the room. He ignored the bath entirely. Perhaps another night he would indulge, but not tonight. Walking toward the bed, he toed off his boots and then knelt before the first chest Frigga had opened. He moved the cloth aside and looked down at the choices laid out before him. He picked them up, one by one, examining and admiring the craftsmanship, the attention to detail, the anatomical accuracy and wondered if they had been based on real people. He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought.

Loki eventually selected a modest choice, and let the lid of the chest fall shut. He set the phallus down on the bed as he shucked his tunic, and then turned to the selection of oils, finally selecting one that had a pleasing viscosity. Holding it carefully in one hand, he turned back to the bed.

He was really going to do this. It shouldn’t seem nearly so daunting a task, to surround himself in opulence and pleasure himself. He knew how it was done, how to open and prepare himself. He’d had lovers before—men and women both—but none in the last six months. Not even offers to “comfort” him in his grief has stirred the least bit of desire in him, and if he were honest with himself, the few times he’d taken himself in hand since his parents died had been some of the least pleasurable experiences of his life. If he couldn’t find it within himself to simply enjoy this, it was going to be a miserable week.

“I can do this,” he whispered and before he could second guess himself, slid his pants and smallclothes down over his hips, letting them slither to the floor. He shoved the blankets and sheets down and settled himself on the bed. The oil he set on the table by the bed and he picked up the phallus. Being made of stone, it was cool to the touch, and probably wouldn’t feel all that nice. He frowned for a moment, and then cast a small spell, channeling heat through his hands until the stone was warm to the touch. Then he set it aside, slid down further onto the bed and reached for the oil.

Once his fingers were coated liberally with oil, he reached for his cock first. Loki wanted to be at the point where he _wanted_ to be filled, when desire and pleasure had pushed him to the point that he wouldn’t mind that he had only a piece of carved stone and no lover with him. He let his free hand wander over his chest and abdomen as he stroked himself slowly, tweaking and plucking at his nipples and running his nails along his ribs, shivering at the sensation.

After a few moments, his cock was thick and hot in his hand, and his hips were twitching slightly. He gripped the base of his cock for a moment and then reached for the oil again. Fingers coated once more, he reached down, between his legs, brushing over his balls for a moment before stroking over his entrance, rubbing oil into the skin and muscle. Slowly, with patience and the help of a bit more slick, he worked himself open, breath coming in little pants as sweat began to rise on his skin. When he first brushed the spot within him that brought so much pleasure, he arched his head back, letting out a needy little moan.

He almost brought himself to completion right then before remembering that the point was to work himself open and loose during the course of the week. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand and reached for the phallus, still warm to the touch. He coated it in oil, gripped it with the hand that was mostly dry, and brought the tip to rest against his entrance. Oil-covered hand on his cock once more, he stroked himself and began to push the phallus inside.

The angle was slightly awkward and he hissed as the tip breached him—it really had been too long—but pressed on, stopping when he needed a moment to breathe. Finally it was seated completely, and he took a moment to squirm, seeking a better position. The stone was unyielding within him, and it took a little practice before he could pump it in and out of himself without discomfort. Once he could, he gave himself over to the feeling, drawing his legs up further as both hands worked to bring him to release.

It took him almost by surprise, the pleasure tightening and coiling within him, tipping him over the edge almost before he was aware of it. He cried out as he came, muscles tensing and then shuddering as he rode the wave of his orgasm. When the last few ripples had passed, he slid the phallus out carefully, dropping it onto one of the scattered carpets on the floor, and just sprawled on the bed, boneless, one arm thrown over his eyes as he panted.

Loki needed to rise, clean himself up and then sleep, but he couldn’t move at the moment. The release had been…needed, and long overdue. He felt dampness on his arm and dragged it over his eyes to wipe away his tears. He was king now. As much as he might miss his parents, as much as he might feel overwhelmed and lost, he had a duty.

He could do this.

~*~

The week of competition was…strange. In practice, it didn’t differ all that much from previous years, but the somber air that surrounded the affair had muted the usually enthusiastic crowds. It got better as the week went on, the people allowing themselves to be lost in the excitement, but it was clear that this year was very different from most. Loki did his best to feign interest, but between the oddness of being alone and the discomfort of the stone plug within him, it was hard to concentrate.

He did pay more attention as the competition winnowed the contestants down, knowing that one of these men would be taking him across the altar. The eventual winner did surprise him somewhat. He was smaller than most of the others, though still tall with an impressive breadth to his shoulders, leaner, relying more on quickness and skill than brute strength.

Loki leaned over to Frigga as the man was declared the winner. “Who is he?”

“His name is Hogun.”

“Hogun? That’s it? No surname? Where is he from?”

“It’s the only name he gave,” she replied. “Nor do we know where he’s from. Some have seen him before. They say he’s a wanderer, a sell-sword. No one knows much more, but anyone who’s had dealings with him says he always keeps his word.”

“That’s something,” Loki muttered, and as soon as the competition was finally done, he rose, sweeping back to the pavilion and the private section for him. _I can do this_ , he thought to himself, repeating the phrase until he’d worked up enough confidence to strip his clothes off and work the plug out of himself, applying another coat of oil to… _ease_ Hogun’s way. Then he donned a kilt similar to the one his father had used and tugged a heavy robe over that.

“Loki?” Frigga’s voice called from outside.

“I…I’m coming,” he called back and took a deep breath before going back out into the main area.

Frigga gave him a worried look and came over to clasp his hands in hers. “You’re doing fine,” she reassured him. “Just a little while longer and it will be all over.”

“I know. I know.” She cupped a hand to his cheek and laid a soft kiss on the other. “We should go,” he said shakily, and she nodded and stepped back.

“Come, this way.”

She didn’t hold his hand, but she did walk by his side as they circled past the main path the crowds took, up a smaller, out-of-the-way path. Guards escorted them, but kept a respectful distance. When they reached the summit, Loki let the familiar wash of magic sink into him, muting his nervousness and calming him.

Untying the robe, he shrugged it from his shoulders, seeing out of the corner of his eye that Frigga caught it before it hit the ground. Then he took a deep breath and walked out.

The weight of all the gazes directed at him was heavy, but not unbearable. Loki’s eyes drifted over the people and his mind dismissed them as unimportant. His focus centered on the altar and he walked over to it, head held high and back straight. One of the guards trailed him, wrapped the chains carefully around his wrists as Loki set his back against the cold, worn stone of the altar. Then the guard stepped back and the crowd turned its focus to Hogun as he came forward.

Loki watched him walk toward the altar, slightly bemused at the ridiculousness of the ritual. He’d almost laugh if he couldn’t feel the threads of magic pulling at him. Maybe there was something to the tales that the ritual was needed, that it evoked the blessing of the gods. Then his mind shuddered away from that chain of thought, unwilling to even entertain the notion that perhaps the rumors of why the plague began had any grain of truth 

Standing before him, streaked with blue paint, Hogun began the ritual exchange. “Do you give your life freely?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.

“Yes,” Loki replied, repeating a version of the words he had learned as child. “I will bear any burden for my people.” And it was true, he realized. This might be a ceremony, more show than actual sacrifice, but he would do what was necessary to protect his people.

“You have a noble heart. And if I ask for another sacrifice? Do you still give it freely?”

“If it is within my power to give, then yes. Whatever I posses, it is yours.”

“If you accept, then we shall make a sacrifice of your body and blood.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, and Hogun leaned forward to unwind the chains from his arms with a gentleness Loki would not have expected, judging from the dark-haired man’s grim appearance. His kilt was parted next, with the same care, and then Hogun stepped right up between Loki’s legs and laid his hands on his hips.

He entered Loki, slowly and carefully, and Loki found himself glad for the preparations he had taken. The other man slid in with no resistance or pain, and Loki couldn’t help the relieved sigh that shuddered free of him. Hogun’s gaze flickered up, and Loki was afraid he’s offended him for a moment, but he just nodded slightly in understanding.

Hogun’s movements were quick and efficient. It was quite possibly the least sexual coupling Loki had ever experienced, but he was playing a role and hadn’t expected more than that. That he was mostly hard when Hogun finished, releasing within him, was somewhat of a surprise. The crowd cheered as Hogun stepped back, turning to face the crowd and act as a slight shield as Loki rewrapped the kilt around his hips. Frigga stepped forward with his robe, and then she escorted him back down to Gladsheim with his guards.

The jarls and other guests would be coming back and Loki should be there to greet them, and at least join in the feast for a short while. But Frigga pushed him toward the stairs none too gently. “Go,” she urged.

“I shouldn’t,” he said stubbornly.

“Loki, _go_. No one expects you to play host, not right now. You’ll have many more years yet to impress us with your charm and dedication. For tonight, take care of yourself.”

He opened his mouth to protest again and then nodded. He started to go, but turned back quickly, pulling Frigga into a fierce embrace. “Thank you,” he said thickly into her wealth of blonde hair.

“You’re very welcome, my dear. Now go.” She shooed him down the stairs, finding a hot bath already drawn in the large tub and the sheets turned down. He sank into the marble bath gratefully, staying submerged in the hot water and washing off the traces of blue paint and seed until the water cooled. Then he pulled himself free, dried himself, and slid between the blankets, curling up beneath their warm, heavy weight and falling asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

The mead hall of Gladsheim was full to bursting, loud and chaotic with the commotion of several hundred people already celebrating the commencement of the festival the night before its official start. Loki, seated at the head of the table, raised his goblet for each toast, but took only very small sips. All his experience in handling this still didn’t make it a good idea to get falling down drunk before he began his part in the festivities.

A servant touched him briefly on the arm, then bent down to whisper in Loki’s ear that the last of the preparations had been completed and that all was in readiness for when he wanted to depart. Loki smiled and rose immediately to his feet. He always did enjoy this part more than the feasting and merrymaking that everyone else seemed to prefer.

The volume in the hall rose as people noticed his movements, and he spent several minutes bidding his subjects good night before he was finally able to slip away. The corridors were mercifully quiet and cool, the heavy doors doing their job at keeping the noise and heat contained within the hall itself. The same servant who’d fetched him in the hall suddenly appeared at his elbow, holding out a chilled goblet which Loki took gratefully, doubly so when he saw that the vessel simply held water.

“They await your pleasure, Sire,” the man murmured, taking back the empty goblet.

“I don’t doubt it,” Loki chuckled, earning a wry grin from the servant. “Thank you,” he said, and then turned, making his way to the stairs and the room below.

The slight murmur of conversation that drifted through the closed door stopped when he pushed it open, and the eyes of all the people in the room fixed on him. Loki pushed the door shut, threw the lock, and then turned to face his attendants. “Good evening,” he greeted them.

They returned the greeting with “good evenings” and “hellos” of their own, except for Sif who grinned and said, “Finally.”

“We have all week,” he chided her with a smile. “An hour or two is hardly going to make any difference.”

“If you say so.” She came forward and he embraced her in a tight hug. Of all the attendants he had, Sif had been there the longest. Not one of the original set Frigga had instructed, but she’d been with him for four or five years now. Most only stayed two or three years before they left to fulfill other duties and obligations, like marriages and starting families. Sif, however, was in no hurry to do either, and with her father allowing her the freedom to chose, she remained single and fit to fulfill her duties as an attendant.

When she pulled back, she turned and beckoned one of the other girls over. “Loki, this is Sigyn. She’s new this year.” The girl was young, and Loki suspected she had probably just passed her majority in time to serve here. But she was lovely, pale skin, dark hair and clear gray eyes.

Sigyn dipped a perfect curtsy, eyes downcast demurely. “Your Majesty,” she murmured.

“Loki,” he corrected gently. “Such formalities aren’t needed, not in this room.” Then he caught her hand gently in his and bowed over it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She blushed—and, really, she was going to have to get over that awfully fast—but it was charming, and he saw from the look she gave him from under her eyelashes and the way she bit her lip that it wasn’t solely embarrassment that stained her cheeks pink.

“I assume you’ve instructed her?” he asked Sif, the question for Sigyn’s benefit more than anything else.

“Of course. And Fandral was more than willing to let us practice on him.”

“I’m sure he was,” Loki laughed, looking over at the sole male among his attendants.

The man grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “The sacrifices I make for my liege.”

“Truly a burden, I know,” Loki drawled, then shook his head. “All right, now that introductions are finished....” He did nothing more than hold his arms out to his sides, but the motion was enough to cause his attendants to spring into action. Sif and Sigyn came forward, the two undoing the ties and clasps to his robes, Sif then handing the garments to Sigyn to hang while she deftly unlaced the light pants he wore beneath.

Loki smirked at Sif for a moment as he stepped free of his clothes, but all she did was pinch him on the ass and mutter, “Incorrigible.” He chuckled and stepped away from her and toward the large tub, the water hot and steaming, fragrant with scented oils. Freya and Amora were waiting in the bath, both grinning wickedly, and he handed himself over to their ministrations with a smile of his own.

They washed him down with soft cloths and fragrant soap, their fingers kneading gently as they rubbed any stress from his body. The occasional pinch or press of lips or nip of teeth aroused him slowly, and he returned the favor when one of them moved within easy reach of his hands. He soaked for a long while, until the water finally began to cool, and then he rose, stepping out of the water so Sif and Sigyn could dry him with soft towels.

When they were done, he laid down on his stomach along a low, well-padded table, almost a bench, but a bit wider. He made himself comfortable, head resting on a small pillow, watching as Fandral selected a bottle of bottle and joined him on the table, kneeling over Loki’s thighs. He drizzled some of the oil over Loki’s back and began working it in with skills fingers, using a firm touch to seek out and massage away any tense muscles. He worked from Loki’s shoulders down to his hips, then up and down his arms and legs. Meanwhile, the women cleaned up from his bath, rinsing out the tub and removing the wet towels and clothes. The sound of them setting out other things drifted through the room as Fandral rubbed some oil onto his buttocks, long fingers sweeping down to spread the liquid evenly between his cheeks. Then with a rather impertinent—if light—smack to his ass, Fandral swung himself off of Loki. “All yours, Sif,” he called cheerfully.

“Thank you,” Sif drawled, coming over, Sigyn followed silently like her shadow. Sif seated herself beside Loki’s left hip and gestured for Sigyn to seat herself at Loki’s right. Loki turned his head to watch his newest attendant. Sif took one of the girl’s hands and poured some oil over her fingers, smoothing it so that Sigyn’s hand was liberally coated.

“Just like we showed you,” Sif instructed from behind him and Sigyn murmured her assent, and leaned over slightly to get a better angle. The first touch against his entrance was tentative, careful. Loki allowed it, for now. Experience had taught him that with an entire week of this to go, taking it easy in the beginning was for the best. Sigyn’s finger pushed gently until she had breached him was a small sound of surprise. Loki settled further into the table, letting Sif’s quiet voice lull him as she instructed Sigyn on her to move her hand, the movements dutifully following Sif’s words. One finger became two, and then they began to twist and stretch gently.

He felt the sudden jolt of pleasure as Sigyn’s fingertips brushed over the spot inside him and he groaned lowly. His cock started to harden and he shifted against the padding, rubbing slightly against the material. Sigyn stilled momentarily, but resumed at Sif’s urgings. Her fingers returned to that spot, stroking over it again and again. Loki moaned, hips twisting and rolling as she worked, rubbing himself almost to completion when she stopped, her fingers slipping free of his body. Before he could protest, something cool and hard was nudging at his hole, and he relaxed, letting them slip the slim plug inside. There were a few careful tugs to make sure it was seated properly, and then Sif helped him turn over.

Amora was waiting to take her place and she smiled wickedly as she ran her fingers up Loki’s erect cock. Without a word, she swung a leg over him so that her knees were planted on either side of his hips. She lowered herself slowly, guiding his tip to her entrance and then sank down in one swift motion, burying him to the hilt inside her. They both groaned and Loki slid his hands up her thighs so that he could grip her hips. He squeezed in a silent gesture, and held on as she began to move her hips.

The others moved around the room as Amora rode him, any sounds they made muted by Loki’s focus on Amora. She moved with abandon, teasing him as she pleasured him, the scratch of nails here, the pinch of fingers there. Loki was content to let her do most of the work, thrusting his hips up to meet hers. As well as Amora knew him, and with Sigyn’s previous ministrations, it didn’t take long to bring Loki to completion.

She braced her hands on his chest and ground down just a bit harder until Loki bucked up one final time, holding Amora against him until he finally slumped back onto the bench, panting harshly. Carefully, Amora pushed herself back up until she was sitting up straight. Loki felt it when Freya settled across his legs behind Amora. She snaked one hand around Amora’s waist and down between her legs, her other hand cupping a breast and rolling the hardened peak between her fingers. Amora grasped her other breast, twisting her head around so that she and Freya could kiss. Freya rubbed and teased Amora until the other woman cried out at her own completion. Loki shuddered at the feeling of her clamping down on his still sensitive cock.

The two women continued to kiss and stroke each other leisurely, until Sif finally shooed them off Loki. Fandral offered a hand to help him up, and Loki accepted, feeling pleased and sated and boneless. His attendants got him tucked into bed, and he reached out with one hand to snag Sif’s wrist before she could go. “Stay,” he murmured.

Sif rolled her eyes, but smiled fondly, stripping her simple tunic off before slipping under the blankets with him. He rolled onto his stomach and threw an arm over her belly to keep her in place. He heard her quiet chuckle, but ignored it, and within minutes he was asleep.

~*~

The next morning, he sat down in his seat carefully. For the first couple of days, the plugs were fairly small, practically unnoticeable once they were in for a little while, but sitting down too hard could still cause an unpleasant jolt. Toward the end of the week, when the plugs became larger, Loki wouldn’t be able to ignore them. They would fill him, then stretch him, reminding him of their presence with every small movement he made. The last couple of days, being forced to sit and watch the competition with the large plugs seated inside of him, were akin to torture.

Since he had now arrived and was settled, the presentation could begin. The bard in charge of the announcements signaled for the men to begin entering and the crowd got its first look at the competitors. Loki’s first thought was that it was a very good crop. As always, there men from each hold, and this year there seemed to be a trend toward those with larger statures and physiques. Loki couldn’t help the small inward sigh as each man was introduced, his hold and heritage proclaimed. If one of the more well endowed men won, all the preparation wouldn’t simply be a pleasant way to facilitate the ritual, it would be a dire necessity.

Still, there were enough pleasing examples that he enjoyed most of the morning. The crowd seemed well-pleased by the offerings, and there was friendly talk among the jarls over who they thought was likely to place well. There were only a few competitors left to be introduced, and by custom they were usually the most high ranking of the field, those men who were of noble blood.

Loki couldn’t help his look of surprise when Thor Odinson was introduced last. Thor was a few years younger than he, and as children they had played together whenever the jarls visited or convened. Given Thor’s nature, he would have expected Thor to have entered the competition the first year he was able if he wanted to, and since he hadn’t yet, Loki assumed he didn’t wish the play the role of the Avatar. He looked over to Frigga and Odin, seated on his right, brows raised. “You didn’t mention he was competing.”

Odin shrugged. “He wanted to enter as soon as he was old enough, but we encouraged him to wait. Rarely does one win in their first year when they are that young, and he wasn’t yet mature enough to handle the loss gracefully. He’s mastered his temper since then and decided this year he would test himself.”

“I see.” Loki glanced back to the field where the bard was explaining the rules, though he doubted there was anyone there who _didn’t_ know them. “I look forward to seeing how he does.”

Frigga’s smile was wry. “You’ll forgive us if we’re not very excited about it.”

Loki grinned back and nodded. Yes, he understood that feeling all too well.

After the introductions, there was a break for lunch, Loki stayed out in the stands, along with most of the others jarls and their families, eating food brought by servants while most of the crowd dug provisions out of bags and baskets they’d brought with them. The competitors were given food and drink as well, seated on cloaks and blankets as they waited for the trials to begin.

The first competitions were simple feats of strength, designed to eliminated those who would not last through the more challenging contests later in the week. Not many were cut from the field of competition—the crowd, after all, would need much to entertain them as the days passed—but it was enough to whet the people’s appetites for more.

The day ended early enough to allow for one more night of carousing before the truly difficult contests began. And while Loki stayed for a while, entertaining his guests as was proper, he’d spent a good portion of the day on the edge of arousal and hurried down to the ritual chamber as soon as he deemed it appropriate. His attendants were there waiting for him, and the door had no sooner shut behind him than Fandral was on his knees before him, working to take Loki’s cock out of his pants and then into his mouth.

Loki sighed as the soft, wet heat engulfed him, taking the worst of the immediate need off, and he let the others strip his clothes from him while Fandral attended to him with flicks of his tongue and gentle suction. As soon as his clothes had been stripped away, Fandral upped his efforts. Loki sank his fingers into his thick blond hair, clutching at the strands as Fandral swallowed him down, nose buried in the black hair of Loki’s groin. It didn’t take long before he was close, and a slight push from behind against the plug still inside him had him coming with a long groan.

Panting, holding on Fandral’s head to steady himself even as the other man’s hands on his hips helped keep him upright, Loki looked over his shoulder at Amora, who smiled smugly and pushed against the plug again, earning a small gasp.

“Enough,” Sif said, rolling her eyes. “The water won’t stay warm forever. Into the tub with you.” Loki tipped his head in acknowledgement and stepped into the steaming water. Having Sif made things go much more smoothly. She knew what she was doing, and had experience and maturity to take charge and chivvy the others into doing their duties when they might otherwise be distracted.

Under her watchful eye, Amora and Freya didn’t waste much time bathing him. Sif and Fandral dried him just as quickly, Sigyn standing off to the side, watching quietly, Loki’s next plug held securely in her hands. Privately, Loki wondered why Sif had chosen her. She was beautiful, yes, and eager to please, but her demeanor was unlike those Sif usually approved of and he wondered why. Perhaps he would ask her once the others had left.

They laid him back down on the table and again, Sif guided Sigyn through opening and stretching him. It was easier today, and in a few minutes Sigyn was sliding the oiled plug smoothly inside him. He sighed softly once it was fully seated, enjoying the pleasant fullness. The plug was still relatively slim, but in a couple more days, they wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable as this one.

Sif raised an eyebrow when he turned over and he shook his head faintly. She nodded and with a few wordless looks set the others to cleaning up while he stretched out in bed. When all was set to rights, his attendants excused themselves. “I want you to stay, Sif,” he said, turning onto his side and propping his head up on one arm as he watched them leave. The others grinned at her and Sif locked the door behind them.

She shed her clothes and slipped under the covers beside Loki, facing him and mimicing his pose. “What’s your game?” he asked.

“Game?” she asked innocently.

“With Sigyn. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

Sif shrugged and settled down onto her back. “I like her. She’s a lovely girl.”

“I don’t disagree, but she’s not your usual type.”

“No, but she is the type that would make a good wife.”

Loki paused, checking to make sure Sif was serious. She was. “You’re matchmaking?” he asked in disbelief?

Quirking her lips in a small smile, Sif shrugged again. “You’ll need a wife who understands this and wants more than just to brag about getting fucked by the king.” She slif closer, pressing against him. “I don’t deny that this is fun, but you have other responsibilities to think of.”

Loki pursed his lips, studying her carefully. “I’m surprised you’re not suggesting youself.” He was entirely sincere. He’d always known Sif would make a good queen and had assumed that the question would come up sooner or later.

Sif laughed out loud. “Oh, Loki, no. Don’t get me wrong, we’re friends, but I don’t think we’d be entirely happy if we had to spend all our time together. And you’re my friend, but I want my marriage to be more than a business arrangement. You need someone like Sigyn. Trust me on this.”

Huffing, Loki laid down as well. He wasn’t disappointed. That alone was enough to tell him Sif was right. “It seems you’ve given me no choice.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Sif chided, rolling over to drape an arm across his waist. “Give her a chance. I’m telling you, she’s what you need. And if it doesn’t work, we’ll find someone else. Now go to sleep. You have a long day of watching attractive, naked men compete for the honor of fucking you.”

Muttering under his breath, he turned over as well to mirror her position and closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've ever read the original Grimm fairy tales, you've experienced how wonderfully insane they are. They have a delightful habit of glossing over what seem to be important details and blindly accepting illogical events. In the story of "The Princess and Svadilfari" that Farbauti tells Loki, I've attempted to recreate that feel.
> 
> And if you were curious, the characters and places all come from myth, so feel free to look them up if the mood strikes you. Just keep in mind that I've bent them to my purposes in this.


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